


Life Science

by Isagel



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Caretaking, Established Relationship, Love, M/M, Post-Episode: s01e05 Choose Your Pain, Queers in Space, Sex Pollen, Space Husbands, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 21:32:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12661821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isagel/pseuds/Isagel
Summary: The spores connect Paul to the universe. The connection he has with Hugh remains more intimate.





	Life Science

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Наука о жизни](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16268147) by [Mr_Sandwave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Sandwave/pseuds/Mr_Sandwave), [Star_Trek_20XX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Trek_20XX/pseuds/Star_Trek_20XX)



> This story takes place shortly after episode 5, “Choose Your Pain”, but makes use of Stamets’s behaviour in episodes 6 and 7.

The morning after the day his boyfriend injects himself with alien DNA to foolishly and heroically save them all, Hugh Culber wakes up and finds that he is alone in their bed. He reminds himself that this is hardly unusual—he’s never been a morning person, while Paul is quite decidedly a “scientific discovery doesn’t care if it is night or day or if you sleep at all” person. It makes for different circadian rhythms on the best of days. Still, he’s relieved when he sees a PADD on Paul’s pillow and the screen lights up when he touches it to show a brief note:

> It’s Wednesday so you’re working the late shift, letting you sleep. Absolutely having a sick day as the doctor ordered, just checking on things first. Stop worrying, darling, I’m fine.

That Paul takes the time to write a reassuring note is unusual, but then he’s never done anything as directly dangerous to his own well-being before as rewriting his DNA to navigate a starship, so staving off Hugh’s concern before he starts a ship-wide search must seem like a good idea. 

Hugh leaves the PADD by the bed and gets up, crosses the floor to the small viewport that shows the galaxy outside, the space they’re traveling through. At warp, all he sees are streaks of light in the blackness, but it never ceases to soothe and amaze him, the universe beyond the thin walls of the hull, the endless void that isn’t a void at all, that is a biological structure Paul has seen now with his own mind, as real as the tissue samples Hugh looks at in his microscope—the neural network of time and space. He doesn’t understand the finer intricacies of Paul’s scientific theories, he’s never put the necessary hours into quantum mechanics, but intuitively it makes sense to him, the idea of an organic universe, biological at the most fundamental levels. Physics as a life science, another branch of what he does himself.

Still, he hadn’t expected Paul to merge his own life with that science, make his own biology the testing ground. Perhaps he should have seen it coming, but all he can do now is deal with the result.

He has run all the tests he could think of to make sure that Paul is actually all right. He isn’t going to hover over Paul looking for signs of ill-effects twenty-four seven unless there are new symptoms, that would drive them both mad. He just has to keep a keen eye on any developments as and if they appear. He can maintain a reasonable professional perspective, he wouldn’t be chief medical officer of this ship if he couldn’t. He has to let the worry go and get on with his day. He turns his back on the sweeping brushstrokes of cosmic light outside the window and heads into the bathroom for his morning shower.

He’s standing in front of the bathroom mirror some time later, a towel around his hips, combing product through his hair with his fingers when he hears Paul enter their quarters.

“Hugh?” he calls. “Are you home?”

“In here,” Hugh calls back. A moment later the bathroom door slides open and Paul’s reflection appears over his shoulder in the mirror.

He smiles when he sees Hugh, a wide, happy grin that makes Hugh smile, too, their eyes catching in the steamy glass. With the pressure Captain Lorca has put him under, to perfect the spore drive no matter the cost, it’s been a rare sight these past few months, Paul really smiling.

“There you are!” Paul says. “I went to commune with my mushrooms, but I missed you and your beautiful face. The mushrooms are beautiful, too, of course, spores all shiny and blue, but you are definitely shinier.”

“Your cheerfulness is continuing apace this morning, I notice.” He’d put Paul’s elevated mood down to the adrenaline rush, yesterday, a not uncommon side effect of such a massive shock to his system. This many hours afterwards, though, it could be a sign of something else. For all he knows, it might be a new baseline. Like everything about what Paul has become, it’s something to monitor carefully. For now, though, he allows himself the immediate emotional response to seeing his partner happy. “Did the beautiful mushrooms have anything interesting to say?”

Paul steps across the room and hops up on the counter by the sink where Hugh is washing the hair gel from his hands, his back to the mirror, one dangling leg brushing the outside of Hugh’s knee. He’s at least allowed the day off to translate to being out of uniform, instead wearing sweatpants and the standard issue t-shirt emblazoned with the nickname of their ship. He’s already kicked off his shoes.

“They still don't talk to me like they did the tardigrade, no. Not without the navigational interface. I’d say we’ve definitely established a new rapport, though. It’s more enjoyable, being near them, compared to previous experiences. Bearing in mind that I already thought they were pretty great to be around before yesterday, of course, what with the whole ‘greatest scientific discovery of our generation, made by me’ aspect. But this is different, more—” He pauses, kicking his bare heels lightly against the cabinet beneath the sink, looking for the right word. Then he shrugs his shoulders, smiles. “ _More._ ”

He looks apologetic, at not being able to pick a definition, but also there is something in his expression that is clearer than words. If Hugh had to describe it, he might use the term ‘beatific’.

Hugh dries his hands, puts the towel down on the counter. Moves to stand in front of Paul, laying his hands on his parted thighs. Paul is warm and solid. Here.

“You could have died,” he says—the potential loss that was gambled against the gain of this _more_. He wants Paul to remember, for the future, still feels panic at the danger though the bet was won.

“Yes,” Paul says, not arguing the point, which is paradoxically reassuring, “but you patched me up. Good as new. New and enhanced, even. Paul Stamets 2.0—now with mycelial integration capabilities.” His hands settle over Hugh’s, thumbs stroking the sides of his wrists. “My brilliant doctor, always making sure we’re all safe, no matter what dangers we face.”

Hugh shakes his head.

“I can't imagine why I bother, when the dangers are so foolishly self-inflicted.”

“Because you care. You’re made up of like seventy-five percent caring. It’s mathematically, biochemically improbable for anyone to be such a good person, but”—Paul makes a sweeping gesture with both hands in the air, indicating Hugh, the entirety of him—“here you are.” A pause, his gaze taking in Hugh’s body, his face. Wide-eyed, adoring. As if sidetracked by the mere fact of Hugh’s existence. “ _Wow._ ”

The intensity of Paul’s attention is almost unsettling, the directness of the sentiment. Paul is never brought up short, and certainly not by emotions or this kind of fervent admiration. It’s not new that Paul feels it, Hugh wouldn’t be with him after all this time if it was, but to see it on display like this— It borders on indecent.

He isn’t sure, quite, what to do with it, what to do with this Paul who radiates joy and warmth and love enough to make Hugh feel too hot inside his skin just being near him.

He doesn’t know if he should be concerned.

“Paul, are you sure you’re all right?” he says. “You seem a bit—”

“Exuberant? Over-excited?” Paul waves his hand dismissively. “I shot myself full of alien DNA and navigated a starship with my mind, probably some after effects are to be expected. But I feel really good. I feel—“ He looks down at Hugh’s hand in his lap, traces the outline of veins and bones with his fingers, a delicate touch. “When I was hooked up to the spore drive, I could sense _everything_ , the whole universe interconnected, and all I had to do was reach out and touch any part of it and we’d be there. All of space and time an organic network, not an abstract theory in my thesis that maybe ten people on Earth were equipped to understand, but real, living tendrils through my cells connecting me to it. And after the jump, I unplugged from the drive, but I didn't disconnect. I still know the connection. The understanding of being connected. To the stars, to the ship, to the pulsing of the spores within and without, to everyone around me, to you.” Paul tilts his head, looking at Hugh speculatively. His legs wrap around the backs of Hugh’s thighs, feet pushing him forward, reeling him in. “Especially you.” He runs his fingertips along the top of the towel around Hugh’s waist, skimming the thin skin at the crests of his hip bones. “I really want to connect with you.”

Hugh scoffs.

At least this form of indecency he knows how to deal with.

“And here I thought you were talking about some deeper form of connection.”

Paul leans in, lips to Hugh’s ear, his voice a low, intimate whisper.

“Oh, trust me, dear doctor, it will be plenty deep enough.”

His fingers dip inside the towel, reaching unerringly down to cup Hugh’s cock.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Hugh breathes.

His eyes flutter shut, with pleasure and desire.

“Mhmm,” Paul agrees, his lips grazing the side of Hugh’s neck. His fingers squeeze Hugh’s shaft, then loosen their grip, letting him thicken with blood to fill his palm, before squeezing down again. Paul’s other hand is slipping down his backside, dipping into the cleft of his ass. A familiar, eager touch, gentle and hungry. “I want to be inside you,” Paul says, and he sounds almost drugged with it, high on endorphins and lust, “I want you all around me, all that sensation, I want to fill you with it. I want to drown in your skin and never come up for air. You gonna let me have you, baby?”

Hugh slides his hands up Paul’s thighs, finds his cock straining against the cotton of his sweats. He runs his thumbs along the outline of it, feels Paul shudder at the touch, grip him tighter with his legs.

“I gather we’re adding libido enhancing effects to our list of the spores’ known properties.”

“Please tell me that means you’re intending to let me fuck your tight ass for science.”

Hugh grabs Paul by the waist, half lifts, half pulls him off the counter, deposits him on the deck. The loosened towel, only held up by Paul’s legs around him, falls to the floor.

“It means I’m taking you to bed before you decide the experiment needs a controlled laboratory environment.”

He takes Paul’s hand, tugging him towards the bedroom.

“To be fair,” Paul says, “you’re very good at creating a controlled environment.”

Hugh pauses, stops to search Paul’s face.

“That what you want?”

He can see Paul contemplate it, feeling the idea out in his head for long enough that he has time to imagine it, images from his memory flashing through his mind—Paul’s hands tied, soft ropes around his wrists to restrain him, secure him to the bed. The heartstopping expression on Paul’s face when he relaxes into it, gives up struggling. Gives up thinking. It’s not what they do day to day, but it is something Paul sometimes asks for, something that Hugh is honored to provide. Something that gives Paul calm.

But Paul shakes his head.

“Not today. I want to touch you.” He swallows, wets his lips, his brows knitting together. “I need to touch you.” He looks as though it’s a revelation, that need, something that is just now dawning on him about the state that he’s in. For a moment it almost seems to scare him.

All Hugh wants is for him to feel safe. For him to have whatever he needs.

“You’re in luck, then,” he says, offering a playful, dirty smile. He takes a step backwards through the bathroom door, tugging Paul with him. “There’s all this me here, waiting to be touched.”

Their quarters aren’t very large; it’s only a few steps before his calves hit the foot of the bed. Paul lays a hand in the center of his chest, pushes him down on it. 

“Luckiest man in Starfleet,” he says. 

Hugh lets himself fall back onto the mattress, scoots up the few extra inches until his head hits the pillow. Paul takes a moment to look at him, no fear in his face now, just that bubbling, happy admiration. It makes the breath catch in Hugh’s throat, his heart contract in his chest. Then Paul moves onto the bed, crawls up his body. The lust he feels at that is familiar by now, well worn with years of being this man’s lover, spreading his legs for him like he’s doing now, but the ache of it is still as sharp, bright in his loins like the first flare of a supernova. Paul settling above him, leaning closer with intent, the palm of Paul’s hand against the inside of his thigh, sliding upward, stroking him open. Paul’s lips against his, and he opens for that, too, deepens the kiss, lets Paul reach inside him, eager tongue against his. He runs his hands up underneath Paul’s shirt, seeking skin, and Paul moans at the touch, presses his hips down, the length of his hard-on heavy for a second against Hugh’s stomach before he pulls away, reaches for the lube in the drawer by the bed.

Hugh takes the opportunity to pull the t-shirt over Paul’s head, revealing the flushed heat of his pale skin. Paul cooperates just long enough to get the shirt off, then his hands are back on Hugh. Caresses down his flank, reverent kisses to his collarbones, his sternum, the peaks of his nipples, fingers now wet with lube breaching his body, stretching his muscles with practiced, careful skill. The deepest of touches, from the inside out, and Paul is still smiling, his other hand stroking Hugh’s hair when he trembles with the pleasure, rolls his hips greedy for more.

“So beautiful,” Paul says, “and I get to travel space and time with you like that isn’t some unattainable dream out of a romance novel. You don’t even know how lucky I am.”

“I know you could get just that little bit luckier,” Hugh says, squeezing his ass down around Paul’s fingers. Paul’s face goes slack, pupils dilated, black swallowing the midnight blue of his eyes. His cock jerks hard where it’s pressed against Hugh’s hip. “Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about, babe, give me that. It’s gonna feel so good.”

“Beautiful and shameless,” Paul says, shaking his head, but there’s admiration in that statement, too. He pulls his fingers out, frees his erection from his pants, shoving them down enough to give him room to move, not taking the time to get them all the way off. He settles between Hugh’s thighs, places his cock at his open hole, and guides himself inside.

It goes as deep as he promised, the hot, thick stretch of his cock, sinking into Hugh’s body, filling him, fitting within him as if Hugh’s flesh has come to anticipate the shape of him, the rightness of it as vivid as the pleasure. 

“God, come here,” he says, reaching up to wrap his fingers around the back of Paul’s neck, pulling him down until their bodies are pressed together, until Paul’s face is near enough to kiss. The skin-to-skin contact as Paul’s weight settles on him makes Paul gasp against Hugh’s lips, travels through him in a long, slow grind of chest against chest, soft belly against Hugh’s hard cock caught between them, his hips arching forward, erection dragging across Hugh’s prostate. As if he could lose himself in the feel of Hugh’s skin touching his, as if nothing could be more all-consuming, not even the spores swarming around him in the glass cage of the drive. 

He fucks Hugh slowly, tenderly, every thrust forceful and filled with conviction. His eyes stay open, watching Hugh’s face, his hands roaming Hugh’s body, touching him everywhere they can reach. Hugh clings to him, encouraging with his body and his words, opening himself to everything that Paul asks to give. When Hugh comes, the joy and wonder in Paul’s expression shine right through him, as if the love he feels could pass through the membranes of his cells, expand the nuclei of his existence. He takes Paul’s face in his hands and kisses him as he shakes with it, as Paul spills inside him. For a moment he thinks he can feel it, what Paul feels, the universe vibrating around them out towards infinity, every atom connected, every atom precious, radiant. Or perhaps all he feels is Paul’s heart beating, the pulse-beat in his neck beneath his hands. Perhaps they’re both the same.

Afterwards, he turns them over, rolling Paul’s weight gently off him, settling them face to face on the pillow. His gaze catches on Paul’s rib cage, on the smooth skin where yesterday he was bleeding when the captain brought him to sick bay, from the deep puncture wounds where the drive interface had pierced him. The amount of blood soaking his undershirt when Hugh unzipped his uniform made his heart race with fear, though his hands, used these days to the trauma surgery of war, remained steady on the instruments as they knit Paul’s flesh back together. He lays his hand there now, feeling Paul’s wholeness, the skin mended as if never damaged. His chest rising and falling with breath and life.

Paul sighs and leans into the touch, warm and flushed with love-making. When their bodies brush together, Hugh can feel that he is hard again, his cock fully erect as though he hadn’t just climaxed a minute ago, as though he’s already ready to go again.

“Well, hello there,” Hugh says.” It would seem I was right about the effects of the spores.”

He can’t help but laugh as he says it, because out of all the potential side effects of Paul’s stupid, brilliant, illegal DNA-experiment, this is definitely one he can live with.

He reaches down to take Paul’s cock in hand, his fingers sliding easily on the lingering traces of lube and semen. 

“Yeah,” Paul agrees, “there’s an effect, but it’s not like—” He breaks off at the feel of Hugh rubbing his erection, his hand clutching at Hugh’s waist, his forehead tipping forward to rest against Hugh’s. “Please, yes, you’re so good to me, so good.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Hugh says. “Whatever you need.” He isn’t going to get it up again himself without some refractory period, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t ready and eager to take care of Paul. He twists his grip the way he knows Paul likes, feels his breathing pick up in response. “What is it like, can you tell me?”

“I—” Paul bites his lip, starts again in a steadier voice. “I’ve never been a very perceptive person, not with anything outside of my science. And I know you’d be the first to say that, don’t pretend otherwise. But with the spores, it’s like I can suddenly sense things. I noticed it yesterday, more this morning walking the ship. Like my mind has opened to a new form of impressions. And with you—” His voice breaks. He lays his free hand, the one beneath him, against Hugh’s chest, fingertips featherlight at the hollow of his throat. “With you I can feel how you love me, a tangible, palpable thing in the room, as concrete as light or sound or the scent of your skin, and it _drives me up the fucking wall_ with wanting you. That’s what it’s like.”

Hugh swallows, his throat suddenly thick with emotion.

“Okay, that’s—” Over Paul’s shoulder, he can see the viewport, the universe streaking by, faster than light. A living thing, organic like the heat of Paul’s body in his hand, like the love pounding in his heart. He fumbles for Paul’s hand at his chest, presses it closer. “One,” he says, “that is the most ridiculously romantic and unbearably hot thing I’ve ever heard in my life. Two, there is no way in the charted galaxy that you are going near those spores again without me and a medical tricorder there to monitor your biological responses.”

“Oh, definitely,” Paul says. There’s a quirk of a smile to the line of his lips that Hugh knows only too well. “You should definitely be there, yes.”

“Paul,” Hugh says. “I am not having sex with you in engineering.” A beat of silence. “Or the cultivation bay.”

Paul laughs, warm and breathless. His hips are moving, fucking Hugh’s hand. 

“I don’t know,” he says, “there are some quite secluded spots in the garden.”

Hugh drags his thumb over the head of Paul’s cock, watches his whole body tense and arc with pleasure. 

“Reckless idiot,” he says. Judging from the grin on Paul’s face, it is entirely tangible that he means _I love you_. 

But then that’s hardly new.


End file.
